11th day of my first chemo cycle and I feel like a crumble

Like a dawn mist, my nausea has lifted so Mr H suggests I join him at the allotment; my first visit this year. I plonk my bum down on the deck chair and like a cat treated to cream, I purr with satisfaction as I cast my eyes over our plot..

Black and white flowers have sprung from the broad beans plants, elephant garlic and onions have withstood the winter rain and the rhubarb is so big it almost touches the stone wall which shelters the plot from the lane. You have done a great job I tell Mr H. 


 I grasp a rhubarb stem  and ask can I pull this out...

Yes take a couple from each crown. Last year we had to leave the new crowns to settle for a year. 

I gasp as the stems come away in my hand...





I pull tiny green weeds from between the parsnips and am in awe of the Canterbury bells and purple aquilegia which I planted from seed the previous summer. They have slept through the mild winter and have now sprung into life, last year they were submerged below white and pink cosmos.

After ten minutes of activity Mr H says right now rest and enjoy the sun I just love having you down here with me. So like royalty, I sit and watch him work...

Two hours at the allotment heals my body and mind

At home I watch as the rhubarb oozes from underneath the ginger crumble. Delicious with clotted cream ice cream..

Nature enriches my life...

Mr H smiles as he walks through the door...what are you up to? 

...Two years ago during the watery summer my sunflower seed began to sprout from the sides of the bird feeder so as the window cleaner watched with a smirk on his face, hands on his hips, I  picked out the 'sprouters' and gently eased each one into a pot filled with seed compost.





...to my delight they threw out a sunshine display in my kitchen garden despite the constant deluge of wet stuff.







Mr H said why don't you collect the seed...so I left the flower heads to dry out and this years sunflowers were born. This summer down at the allotment, with a golden smile, I told inquisitive passers by ...they are all grown from bird seed.

So here I am picking my way through this year's harvest to discover the seeds which the flowers have made. 

Since my nursing career stopped growing, I am occupied by the richness of Time and the Magic of nature...




...yesterday I said to a friend who was trying to juggle her busy life : take a few seconds in your day to see the colour of the sky, take in the detail of a leaf, stop to feel the wind on your skin or listen to the birds sing before you get into your car...when you add up these seconds it's as good as any holiday

“Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.”

— Albert Einstein

Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see a shadow

- Helen Keller

Kaleidoscope - a fairy garden

With a cheeky grin on Valentines Day, Mr H presented me with a gift...

I smiled and left it on top of the piano.

Then in need of some seeds for the allotment I opened the box. A small yellow plastic propagator, a round of compacted soil and a tiny packet of seeds fell out followed by flying fairy stickers.

I wet the compost and magically it grew and grew until it filled the propagator.  I sprinkled the seeds and watched them on the kitchen window ledge. They sprouted into hundreds of green shoots which packed the tray like visitors at the Chelsea flower show.

I carefully split the fragile seedlings into pots and promoted them to the greenhouse where they continued to shoot towards the sky until I was forced to transplant them into  'Lottie's' flower beds. There I sprinkled magic dust and waited....

Each time we water the allotment I skip (I wish) in a circle around the flowers singing to Mr H...

 "I grew these flowers from seed;  I grew these flowers from seed; heh ho the poppy  O; I grew these flowers from seed!"

Red and pink poppies sway in the breeze;  pink and blue cornflowers bob on their stems

Wild flowers which for me have no name, twinkle in the sun..... 











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Gardening, Allotment

Idle at the Allotment - I am a Spoonie

I drag the deck chair out of the shed when we arrive at the allotment and sigh with relief as my green chair snaps open. I drop down into the seat as I ease my camera out of my blue shorts.

I watch Mr H wander off to fill the watering cans from the water trough; the water splashes as he expectantly plonks the full cans down beside me:

With a cough I remind him I am not doing anything; my energy cans are empty.





Well... I will pick the ripe strawberries peeking from under their net and snap at the growing vegetables.









Back  home I research 'empty watering cans' and come across the Spoon Theory by Christine Miserandino. I too am a Spoonie and today I have run out of spoons.

Christines' theory is a simple analogy describing spoons as a unit of energy. She suggests that most people, particularly the young, start the day with an unlimited amount of spoons hence  the energy to do what they desire! People with a chronic illness have to plan each day on the basis of how many spoons they wake with; each activity in the day will cost a spoon; showering, dressing, breakfast and so on. Activities have to be tailored accordingly.

At the moment I am changing my epilepsy drugs so my spoon allocation each day is low. Today I woke with ten spoons and have used nine before we went to the allotment; hence my 'idleness' and joy at the sight of my deckchair...

By the way Mr H and I are starting a UK Allotment Holders version of 'Attraction' This years Britain's Got Talent Winners!!

Help I think I have 'First Degree Bingo Wings'

I am sofa dancing as we watch a film about ballroom dancing, arms raised and fingers pointed I copy the sharp tango moves. A squeal slips from my smile as I call Mr H

OMG the flesh under my arms moved; I show him my Tango arm steps:

Did it move?

 a bit ...he laughs as he names it 'First Degree Bingo Wings'

I fetch weights 

and start pumping my biceps;   












I don't want Bingo Wings.. .not 50 yet; I need to go to the Gym

You don't need the Gym; lift more watering cans at the allotment

Down at the allotment my knees cave in as  I try to lift TWO watering cans: 

The cans are like moving boulders so I collapse into my throne to watch Mr H as he does all the work.

Energy, when I have it, feels like bags of gold dangling from my heart, something I cherish not knowing if the bag will be refilled. 

Later this month I am changing my epilepsy tablets, I am in the driving seat regarding the timing of this change. I have been on this journey many times and know that energy sapping is a real risk. 

July will be being a quiet month for us so, like packing my case for a holiday I prepare for a period of low energy in the height of summer...lounger in the garden; deckchair at the allotment and sun tan here I come!!

Everyone should have one!

The perfumed aroma of fresh manure fills my nose, gloves make grasping fistfuls of straw and horse muck almost a pleasure..no peg on my nose.. I am becoming immune...

Lottie the allotment is looking well, she grins a green grass smile as we approach; the sun performs a glorious welcome amidst a pure blue sky...

We tackle listed jobs, the ninth bed sighs as we fill her with dark brown compost from last summers flower tubs, she will soon be nursing raspberry canes and gooseberries. I sit on my throne, an upturned water-butt stand, and settle twenty strawberry plants into the rhubarb bed...better than being joined by my bum! Mr H does the heavy work trundling to and fro from the water trough with full watering cans...

Snacks accompany regular breaks, my oatcake sandwich surprise has Mr H grinning (oatcakes stuck together with a spread of lemon curd..savoury and sweet... yummy), Jamie Oliver beware.... On my deck chair I tilt my face up to smile at the sun, my skin rejoices ...at last spring is in the air...

Fellow allotment holders stop to chat, they ask if I will be doing cream teas once the shed is up; yes of course and champagne...Mr H wants Rachel de Thame from Gardeners World to cut the red ribbon.... In that case I will invite Monty Don!

Back at home our red faces glow with satisfaction as bacon sandwiches are munched. Then Mr H falls asleep on the sofa....

My nephew must not be told I am eating bacon  I am a vegetarian..uh hum...well a pesce-crispybaco-tarian.....he says I am attention seeking!!

Easter on my bum in the rhubarb bed

The sun smiles, the dry sky like a wall smeared with Dulux testers, offers shades of white, blue and grey, a couple of hours at the allotment is our plan. I pile on a camisole, two T shirts, a fleece, finally a coat as outer protection.

I dip my toe outside the back door, the cold bites my nose, hat and gloves follow. Flutters of excitement tickle my insides. Today the final bed will be made and we will lay the green carpet. 

Owen arrives to steer the project, Mr H has planned the makeover, I am the tea lady and conductor. Sawing and drilling drowns out birds singing when like magic, the boys turn wood into the ninth bed. I wave my stick at the dips in the ground as they rake the paths.

People passing smile and call out: 

we like the work the supervisor is doing... are you selling deck chairs...

I insist the boys take a photo of me at each milestone, I  take photos of the boys on tea breaks; in between photo shoots I rest my bum on my green sunny deckchair. I am allocated the best standing still job, shovelling fresh horse manure from a barrow into the compost bin... peg on my nose.

I try my chance at spreading fish blood and bone between the beds, the powder settles on my boots and trousers, the pungent odour makes my workers cough. I trundle from bed to bed, wobble, grab at thin air, shout I'm going...bum on the rhubarb... I call for rescue...  

The carpet is ready to be laid, I stand from my chair. Owen drops the first roll onto the ground. Like a member of the Royal Family planting a tree I roll it out in a straight line smiling at the camera Mr H holds.

Grinning; Take more photos...

The carpet transforms the site from bare, muddy floorboards to a room at the Ritz. I hope I bounce when I fall.